


The Frost Killing Hour

by gaialux



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Fix-It, Implied/Referenced Underage Sex, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-28
Updated: 2016-12-28
Packaged: 2018-09-12 21:13:22
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,041
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9091042
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gaialux/pseuds/gaialux
Summary: All in all, at least one thing has always bound them.





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [LaughableLament](https://archiveofourown.org/users/LaughableLament/gifts).



> Written for laughablelament as part of spn_j2_xmas. Somewhat experimental in style.

  
"On your knees, Dean."  
  
He goes without a word. Mouth open and willing. Sam is smiling down at home and Dean licks his lips as response. Taking his brother's gorgeous cock in his mouth has always been Dean's favourite pastime.  
  
*  
  
Christmas Day.  
  
Sam gives Dean an amulet.  
  
_Special_.  
  
Figuring out why?  
  
Takes years.  
  
*  
  
The one time Dean can control Sam is like this. When the visual is _submissive_ but the ability is _dominance_. Still. Dean never takes advantage.  
  
He wants Sam to be the boss here.  
  
*  
  
"Dean?"  
  
"Dean?"  
  
"Are you awake?"  
  
"Dean?"  
  
Dean squeezes eyes shut. Sam's too old to curl into bed with him.  
  
Or maybe it's _Dean_ who grew up much too quick.  
  
*  
  
Sam's hands wrap into Dean's hair and guide his mouth back and forth. A rhythm they've perfected together over the years. Salty-sweet and perfect sin.  
  
Dean sucks and swallows and grins with what room he has left.  
  
*  
  
"I love you."  
  
Dean whispers it into his hands. The amulet is twisted around them.  
  
Tastes like acid. Burns his tongue.  
  
"I love you. _Fuck_. I love you."  
  
*  
  
Sometimes, like this, Dean can't help but let his mind wander. Never in a way that tears away from the job at hand - no - but rather _enhances_ it. Remembering first time. Remembering baby brother writhing under him and Dean questioning himself. Constantly. Guilty. Sinner.  
  
Sam still always comes and kisses.  
  
*  
  
Dad dies first.  
  
Well, the first Winchester everyone cares about anyway.  
  
The amulet didn't save him.  
  
Nobody even thinks about it.  
  
Dean smashes windows; the amulet swings from his neck.  
  
*  
  
Dean takes a hand to his own cock when the aching becomes too much. Internal begging to hold and touch.  
  
Sam's sultry smile from up above makes Dean glow.  
  
*  
  
Dean would never kill Sam.  
  
Never, ever, ever.  
  
And he won't let some demon child do it either.  
  
"Did you sell your soul for me?"  
  
_"We both did. Years ago."_  
  
*  
  
Dean pulls away from Sam's cock and jerks it with his hand. Solid, rhythmic strokes. "What do you want, Sammy?" he asks. "Anything you want."  
  
Sam is shining light and homing beacon. "What you're doing is just perfect."  
  
*  
  
One night.  
  
Because Sam finally, _finally_ believes Dean is going to Hell.  
  
Dean can hear the howls as Sam presses into him.  
  
A little pain.  
  
A lot of pleasure.  
  
Memories to last an eternity.  
  
The necklace shines in the moonlight and Dean cries.  
  
*  
  
Dean is back on his brother. Mouth wide and tongue licking expert circles along the head. Sam has lost all composure - moaning and fucking into Dean's mouth.  
  
This loss of control is what Dean lives for.  
  
*  
  
He comes back with scars on mind and body.  
  
_God_ What God?  
  
He doesn't exist.  
  
*  
  
Sam comes.  
  
It's like stars.  
  
  
* * *  
  
Later  
  
* * *  
  
Later still  
  
* * *  
  
"What are you thinking about?" Sam traces a hand down Dean's chest. His knuckles are purple and and bloody from their last hunt - crushed against a door. They still feel like the sunshine on Dean's skin.  
  
"Nothing," Dean says, which is more or less the truth. He rolls up onto his elbow and stares down at Sam. It's a position they rarely find themselves in.  
  
"Okay," Sam says. No conviction. Dean chooses to ignore it. "I have something for you."  
  
Dean raises his brows in question.  
  
"Promise not get pissed."  
  
"When do I ever get pissed?"  
  
"Ha ha," Sam says. Deadpan. He looks nervous.  
  
Dean touches Sam's cheek.  
  
Sam reaches into his bag.  
  
Dean recoils.  
  
"You promis--"  
  
"No," Dean spits. "I promised nothing."  
  
He's teetering off the bed; naked and vulnerable with those wild eyes that take in the amulet pressed into Sam's fist.  
  
_God is dead. God is gone. We killed him._  
  
" _Why_ are you bringing that back?" Dean demands. "Why do you want God to fuck up our lives again?"  
  
Years have passed. _Years_. They beat Death and met Hell and murdered every son-of-a-bitch that possibly existed. Why is Sam bringing this back _now?_  
  
"Dean," Sam says - pleads. Puppy dog eyes and quivering lip. But Dean doesn't budge. Not on this.  
  
"No." Dean says. Again and again and again until it becomes more familiar to him than his own brother's name. "I'm not letting God in again. No way. We have our own lives, Sam -- why do you need this?"  
  
"Do you remember _why_ I gave this to you?"  
  
He calls it _necklace_ instead of _amulet_. So very Sammy. So very innocent in all this.  
  
"Because dad was - and continued to be - a deadbeat." It's not a suggestion of reasons. It's pure fact.  
  
"No," Sam says. Soft. "Because you're the one that needed protecting."  
  
Dean scoffs.  
  
"Not like that! Dean -- you're the one I cared about most. I couldn't let anything happen to you and if _this_ \--" He holds up the amulet, shakes it "--could do that, I was willing to try."  
  
Dean doesn't know what to say.  
  
"Just, please," Sam begs. He grips Dean's hand. The amulet is entwined between them. Dean thinks he can feel it burn. "Accept it for what it is. Just something I thought could protect you."  
  
This is all Sam needs. It wasn't about God or the end of the world. It was about Sammy still being that little kid who believed in monsters under the bed and nothing worse. The kid who would curl into bed with Dean after a nightmare and cling to him until dawn broke.  
  
That was Sam then. And Sam now might be strong and confident and able to slay demons...but he's still Sam. He's always _been_ Sam.  
  
Dean would be a freaking idiot to refuse him.  
  
Dean uses his free hand to grab the amulet string. It's cooler now. Less strength behind it. Like God has faded into the background and just let them be. Sam's hand loosens. The amulet is all on Dean. He takes it. Slowly. And slides it over his neck. The heaviness is fitting. _Familiar_. Dean smiles. It's real.  
  
"Thank you," Sam says. His voice is hardly more than a whisper. "I--"  
  
Dean cuts him off with a kiss. _Shut up Sam. Let us have this_. Thankfully, Sam responds. Hard and reassuring. The amulet pressing up against Dean's chest. He hope theirs indents. On both of them. And he hopes it remains forever.


End file.
